


Waiting It Out

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Depression, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of New York, Clint and Phil made a deal with Fury that they could get together at least one weekend a month, barring operations. Making it to that one weekend is a real challenge for Clint, so he has a few coping mechanisms in place - including a beat up old pickup truck and some fishing tackle.</p><p>So I intended to just post this on tumblr, but either tumblr or I are being stupid about the read-more cut, and I didn't want to clog up other people's dashboards. So, just a short one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting It Out

The corn field was shimmering, and the stalks wafted slowly back and forth in the breeze at dusk. They looked like tinder setting the sky on fire as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Clint sat in the back bed of his beat up green pickup truck, a small Ford model from the early nineties. He’d picked it up for cheap in a fit of nostalgia a few years ago and had to keep it stored outside the city, had to take a train out to the suburb early on his days off if he wanted to take it out for a while.

Today he’d picked it up before dawn after a sleepless night.

He’d thrown a sleeping bag and a backpack of granola, water, cheese, and trail mix into the passenger seat before tucking his favorite green baseball hat down over his eyes and driving toward Hunterdon County in New Jersey, a place with fields that could fool him into feeling like he was back home in the Midwest. He kept a full set of fishing tackle in the truck bed all the time, and had spent the day fishing between naps at the Round Valley Reservoir. It was early fall and he’d had the bank to himself all afternoon. He caught a few smallmouth bass and tossed them back.

He lost time every once in a while as he watched the fish swim back into the dark depths of the reservoir and the water shimmered with the wiggle of their tails.

He didn’t lose time as often anymore. It had tapered off with help from a good shrink and a few rounds of meds. He was finally off the meds, sleeping most nights without full-blown terrors, and had dealt pretty well with the _Phil situation_. They had an arrangement thanks to Fury.

Phil was working with a new team – Clint still couldn’t help the involuntary clench of his fist at that thought – but he got to meet up with Clint at least one weekend a month unless something big was going on for either of them. They’d only missed one weekend so far.

What Clint didn’t tell anyone, and what had him dozing fitfully on and off upon a muddy fishing bank in New Jersey today, was that getting through the three weeks without Phil felt like waiting for a hit of a very strong drug. By week three, he was a trembling, sleepless wreck.

Natasha knew, and she ran interference for him when they weren’t on an op, and that had saved Clint’s sanity for the last few months. At the moment he still had a week until he could meet up with Phil, and he just couldn’t be home today, unless he wanted to spend the day huddled on the cold tile floor of his bathroom hoping Bruce didn’t decide to come looking for him, worried. He didn’t think he could handle the sympathy today.

Now he sat in the back of his truck watching the sunset, debating whether he could get away with another cigarette before he headed back to the Tower. He decided he could drive with the windows down and eat a roll of mints; for some reason admitting to Steve that he had picked up intermittent smoking again in the months after the Chitauri invasion seemed like setting himself for a look of disappointment, which he had a tough time stomaching these days.

He sighed and pulled the pack of Marlboros from the pocket of his green flannel shirt. He tapped one out and set it to his lips to light when the sound of a car in the gravel behind him made him turn, surprised. He could only stare as Phil climbed out of Lola, strode over to Clint’s truck and hopped up next to him in one smooth motion. Phil reached out and took the cigarette from Clint’s hand and held it up.

“You mind if I toss this?” he said with a grin, and Clint could only shrug and shake his head. Phil tossed it into the bed of the truck and scooted himself so he was sitting against Clint’s side, and he laced his fingers with Clint’s. They were warm and dry and Clint suddenly felt moored in place. He pulled in a deep breath.

“Hey,” Clint said, and he leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder. He breathed in the scent of Phil’s aftershave and the fresh laundry soap smell of his navy, long sleeved t-shirt, and he ran a hand over Phil’s thigh, letting softness of the worn jeans soothe him. “What’re you doing here?” he asked quietly.

Phil chuckled and squeezed Clint’s hand. “I stopped by the Tower because we got a few days free unexpectedly, and Tasha told me you’d taken your truck out today.” He paused and leaned over, pressed a kiss to Clint’s cheek and put his forehead to Clint’s and closed his eyes. He took a few breaths of Clint’s space and opened his eyes again after a moment. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I caught up with you.”

Clint leaned in and kissed him, tasted Phil’s lips with his tongue, pressed close, savored the softness and warmth of Phil’s mouth, the hand clasping his, the way his nerves were relaxing with the heady feeling of Phil’s body leaning against him. He pulled away and turned to frame Phil’s face with his hands.

This was coming down for Clint, settling back into his body, back into his head. Staring into the depths of Phil’s sparkling blue eyes was like staring at a soothing candle flame; it centered him, it sloughed off the muddy feeling of the last few weeks alone, and it left him feeling clean and whole again.

He nodded and pulled Phil’s body close, nestled him against his side securely, wrapped his arm around Phil’s shoulders, and held on tight. They watched the sun go down in silence, punctuated only by the occasional cry of a crow in the field. As the chill of the night settled on their shoulders, Clint pulled away, stood, and pulled Phil to stand in the back of the truck.

“Follow me back to the storage unit?” he asked.

“Dinner after that?” Phil replied.

Clint grinned as they hopped down to the dusty gravel next to the truck. “It’s your turn to pick, but keep in mind I’ve been fishing and sleeping all day, okay?”

“Someplace with peanut shells on the floor it is,” Phil said.

Clint nodded. “See you in an hour?” He was reluctant. He didn’t really want to let Phil out of his sight.

“Can your hunk of junk keep up with Lola?” Phil asked with a mischievous grin.

Clint clapped Phil’s shoulder. “Let’s not make our cars symbols. If we did that then I’d get to drive Lola and you’d be stuck with Louise.”

Phil gave Clint a playful shove before he caught Clint’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. It lit up Clint’s arm all the way up to his shoulder. “See you in under an hour.”

Clint nodded and climbed into his truck, turned the engine on, and watched Phil maneuver Lola back onto the dark, two-lane highway nearby. He put his truck into gear and followed the glowing red taillights, and he let Phil guide them back home.

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI: my tumblr is westgateoh if you're interested. Thanks for reading!


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